


Attempt

by yeaka



Series: Eriador Lights [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8719687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Thranduil tries, but Lindir’s still nervous and Elrond’s still fond.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is set in the same modern-AU as [Chary Champagne](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7522141/), wherein Lindir was an awkward server at a sex club and Elrond a respectful patron, but it’s not necessary to read that for this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Long days are all the longer on Lindir’s days off—though he never truly gets full _days_ ; something will always come up requiring Elrond’s loyal assistant—but at least it gives Elrond something nice to come home to. He finally just has to tell Círdan _you deal with it_ and escape to the elevator. Then he intends to take a nice, hot shower and a long, deep night’s sleep, preferably with his lovely boyfriend tucked under his arm.

But most unusually, when the doors whoosh open to reveal Elrond’s penthouse suite, the atmosphere is nowhere near peaceful.

Loud, pounding club music blares through the open space, which, for a second, makes Elrond question if he got the right floor—it’s hardly Lindir’s style. Especially not this late at night. He can’t even hear his own footsteps as he strolls out of the elevator and in through the kitchen, around past the living room. He spots the open doors of their bedroom and stops right in his tracks again.

Lindir has his back to Elrond, facing their grand bed. His long, chestnut hair is loose about his shoulders, swaying to the beat of the music along his slender back. He wears one of Elrond’s white button-up shirts—too big for him and slipping off one shoulder—and tiny, almost not-there-at-all jean shorts from his Eriador days. Above his head, Elrond can see the stretch of a gleaming white pole, rising all the way up to the ceiling, where it’s fastened in place by what looks like some sort of suction cup. Lindir’s gyrating against the pole, one long leg wrapping sensuously around it, body arching forward in broad sweeps. Each grind of his taut hips makes Elrond’s pulse race faster. Then Lindir starts to sink slowly to the floor, twisting from side to side along the way. When he’s kneeling down, he spreads his legs and bucks his hips against the pole, then closes around it and slides back up. The enticing arc of his spine and the way he thrusts his pert ass out shows a great deal of his cheeks beneath the fraying denim. Elrond’s mouth might be watering. 

Lindir elongates his body as far as possible, delicate fingers sliding up the pole, and he clutches tight to it before doing a sudden swing around it, hair whipping out to the side. He’s halfway through a circle when he spots Elrond, still routed in the living room, and the shock causes Lindir to twist his ankle around the pole. He topples forward and just barely catches himself—Elrond lurches out to help, but by the time he’s there, Lindir’s already straightened up. His pale face is flushed deep pink all the way to the tips of his cute ears. A minute ago he was the picture of eroticism, and now he’s just adorable. Elrond _stares_ at him before finally getting it together enough to go turn off the stereo on a bedside set of drawers. It wouldn’t be conducive to talking. When the music’s gone, Elrond can hear just how loudly they’re both breathing.

Elrond turns back to Lindir and asks, “What...?”

“Thranduil,” Lindir blurts, and then just sort of trails off, which throws Elrond for a loop—he’s in a very specific mood right now that Thranduil shouldn’t be a part of.

Lindir glances at the bed. There’s an open package there that Elrond hadn’t noticed, being too busy ogling the beautiful man before him. Lindir fishes through the crinkled wrapping paper to find a paper card, then thrusts it at Elrond, who plucks it up to read:

_‘Landir,_

_Eriador bungled my order for an at-home fold-out stripping pole. I would’ve returned the extra they sent, but then I remembered how dreadfully dull Elrond’s sex life must be now that he’s moved to such a backwater valley without decent facilities. I’m sure you can figure out how to use it._

_P.S. If you can’t, write Bard and have him make a video of some examples to send you. As it was my idea, it would only be polite of you to forward me a copy._

_\- Thranduil’  
_

It’s all so quintessentially _Thranduil_ that Elrond probably has no right to be annoyed. He is anyway. Not only is his sex life the best it’s ever been—which is frankly none of Thranduil’s business—but the least Thranduil could do is remember his boyfriend’s name.

Elrond tosses the card back into the pile of packaging on the bed, to be disposed of with the rest of the trash. They’re going to have to have a strong talk when next one of them visits the other.

In the meantime, Lindir shuffles his feet and tugs awkwardly at the bottom of his shirt, mumbling with his head hung, “I’m sorry, I... um...”

“Lindir,” Elrond insists, as he so often has to, “you have nothing to apologize for.”

Lindir just fidgets and mutters all the quieter, “But... it’s really not fair to you.” Elrond doesn’t even know where to start. There’s nothing about this situation that’s unfair to _him_ , but before he can say it, Lindir looks up again with such _sad_ eyes and practically whines, “It’s so unfair—you hooked up with an erotic host from a sex club; your love life should be amazing! You’re supposed to be with a professional, and yet I have absolutely no skills in the bedroom, and you’re so handsome and rich and kind and you could have absolutely anyone—someone who’s actually _good_ in bed, but instead you get _me_ , and I can’t even spin around a pole without falling over! I’m—”

“Beautiful?” Elrond interjects before the tirade can go on. He spoke softly, but Lindir quiets nonetheless. He sniffs and looks disparagingly away, so Elrond steps closer to him and reaches for his hand. The over-large sleeves cover him right to the knuckle, but Elrond wraps around his warm fingers and gives them a little squeeze. Then Elrond brings his palm up to Lindir’s cheek and brushes back through his silky hair, tilting his gaze back. Elrond connects their eyes and says with full authority, “You are _extraordinarily_ beautiful, my Lindir. And you are charming, sweet, and the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me since my children. ...And you’re also half my age, still full of youth and freedom—you could have anyone else _yourself_ —and I count myself lucky every day that you choose to stay with a weary old dullard like me.”

Lindir starts to say, “You’re not—” But Elrond _is_ , so he presses forward to end the argument with a kiss. Lindir tilts to meet him instantly and melts against him, one free hand coming up to clutch his shoulder. The kiss sends the same spark down Elrond’s spine that Lindir always does. He truly never could have dreamt of such a perfect partner for him.

When he reluctantly parts their mouths, Lindir wears a sheepish smile. Elrond adds, “And I _adore_ how you are in bed.” Lindir giggles amiably, and Elrond leans in to nuzzle their noses together. Lindir pecks him on the mouth again. Elrond amends, “And on a pole.”

Lindir snorts. But he’s still smiling, and he mumbles, “Thanks, but I know I’m terrible.”

“You don’t have to try on my account, you know.” Even though Elrond very much enjoys the thought.

Lindir shakes his head and sighs, “No, I’d _like_ to be good at it. Like I wanted to work at Eriador. I’m just... not the best at making it work.”

It’s no hardship to say, “I won’t stop you from practicing, then.” Lindir gives Elrond a glowing smile and another kiss.

But then Lindir lightly pushes Elrond back and herds him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Shuffling the packaging aside, Elrond acquiesces. Lindir walks back to the pole and says, “No laughing.”

Elrond wouldn’t dream of it. But he’s fairly certain he’ll have another, quite virile reaction. Lindir smiles through his blush and strolls to turn the music back on.

Then he dances to the pole, and Elrond studiously watches, quite sure he’s the luckiest creature alive.


End file.
